


Strange Lands

by roxy55



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, M/M, first work in outlander
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxy55/pseuds/roxy55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two part series following Hannibal Lecter who is thrown from his blissful life style with Alana Bloom to a strange land, out of his own time but not far from before. Struggling with being the stranger in a battle field, it is not only the time gap but also the new found fight between the Scottish and the British.<br/>A Hannibal Secret Santa Fic for my giftee prostianrecall</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Lands

Memories of his time as a soldier and war doctor seemed to blur, holding a curious disbelief that the war had come to an end—finally. He and his wife, Alana Bloom, took part in the war; he being forced into the part of a soldier while his passion lied solely with tending to people. Still, the blood stains on his hands held a heavy weight that Hannibal was only beginning to comprehend; a swig of wine only able to settle his nerves.

It wasn’t long before they found each other, intertwining emotions and touches; making up for lost time. As they had agreed on, Alana and Hannibal ran for the hills of Scotland and called it a second honeymoon; more or less celebrating the end of a war and their survival.

The landlord of their choice bed-and-breakfast is a pudgy, nosy little man that has watched their coming together blossom from behind doorways and watching them come and go. He has a sweetheart with good intentions, of course, and is a very likable man; but quite odd. There would be moments when they lay in bed, unable to do much more as the constant whir of the vacuum seemed to hover just a few feet outside their door. All they could do is giggle and mess with the man, rolling around their bed to make it squeak or other acts so to make it seem as if they didn’t know what Franklin was doing. Hannibal found the entire act rather amusing. 

Driving up to what Alana called Castle Leoch the next day; Hannibal held a gentle, pleased smile as he let his gaze wander from the road to his wife sitting beside him- her curls fighting against the wind and cheeks seeming to still be flushed from the previous night. 

While Alana fascinated with the structure before them, briefly mentioning the long relation to a military leader who stormed these very lands and what a legend he was, Hannibal could only force himself to briefly listen. She certainly is proud of the man whom she never met, then again her occupation is with history so it makes sense for her to want to learn her own history. Shockingly it all seems to take place in close reigns of England and Scotland, while his own is much more diverse. 

Taking interest in the herbs he could find on the grounds of the ruined castle and making sure to follow Alana through the halls of Castle Leoch, he couldn’t shake the haunted feeling that ran through him as he was tugged behind Alana. 

They found a room not much later that looked to belong to a person of medicine, with the broken glass bottles and a journal filled with notes, which when he touched brought on that same premonition of when he walked through the halls of the castle. It was all strange, being able to see the remains of someone’s life from centuries before who presumably died in the war against the English; it seemed as if he could feel the ghost of that person yelling for his mercy. 

Looking up from the notes he finds Alana sitting on the table with a flirty, lusting expression when looking back to him with a smile. He could only smile back at his wife, at her beauty. 

“You know there isn’t anyone for probably miles around, it’s just the two of us. We don’t have to get back just yet, why don’t we have a little fun?” She had her hair falling over her face and legs crossed, her chest leaning forward into her knees. Everything about her was tempting and he loved it all. 

With gentle hands caressing her neck after moving the hair from her face, Hannibal places gentle kisses starting from the crook of her neck to her lips. Making everything soft, her responses were rough and urging. “You’re very needy today, Alana. Though I suppose it makes since, six years is a long time.” 

This makes her laugh, this had been how the last two days had gone. For a while they would mess around and do as they pleased while every other moment of the day was spent touching at the other like hormonal teenagers. It was all rather laughable. 

“I wouldn’t say you're innocent on that part Hannibal, we’re both guilty parties.” Alana is quick to respond in a playful tone, her hands clawing at every surface they could. It was all intoxicatingly blissful, with each word hushed against his skin and each touch rough and forceful he would scramble for touch and kisses. They spent an hour in each other’s arms before they left, Hannibal and Alana forgetting about their purpose of being there. It was just a chance to be alone and lustful. He could still feel the ghost of her touches and having his arm wrapped around the other as they left, he couldn’t see himself loving another. 

There night was spent somewhere else, tomorrow they would be visiting with one of Alana’s history buffs and though he was happy for her and her occupation, it took away from the honeymoon aspect of the trip when she was working. Still, he could socialize with the residence and would be polite about it; he was just being greedy of his wife’s company.

Tonight, they found themselves a spot up on a hill called Craigh na Dun where they sat on a blanket from the car and watched the night sky. Just a little ways up was a set of tall-standing rocks, much like the ones popular with the tourists not far along. This was a smaller version he supposed, and it was far too late for the tours to be going on. No, instead there was something else that caught his eyes. He didn’t know what to call it, but it was a sight he would never forget.

People with painted faces and cloaks to cover the skin walked to the rocks with lanterns in hand, each person looking down at the light and seeming to have a uniform routine, walking one behind the other. It started in hushed voices, they all gathered at the rocks and sang a hymn he couldn’t identify in a foreign language as they danced with grace around one another. It must be a ritual of some sort.

“These scots with their superstitions and such, it’s so strange,” Alana starts in an amused tone, they were laying on their sides and watched the scene unfold before them. The singing gradually grew and their moves became violent, he was questioning how long this would go on and the purpose behind it. 

“It’s a thing you find in plenty of religions, most things are by definition superstitions we chose to believe. Everyone has different rituals they perform religiously, such as going to church on Sunday or this- singing to a godly figure. It all depends on viewpoints.” She simply sighs and leans forward to give a kiss on his cheek. 

When he looks back to the rocks, the group is gone. Raising a curious eye Alana retorts, “You rambled on so long they left, probably heard us, but it looked like they were done. Quite a show, wasn’t it?” 

“You could say that.” Hannibal responds, doing his best to shoulder the odd air as he sat up and muttered, “It’s getting late, we should head back to the hotel.” 

\--

Alana roamed the streets a little longer at his discretion, apparently stopping to see a friend. Hannibal was left with the room to himself, readying for bed and worrying over his wife’s well being at such a late hour; hoping this friend had the decency to escort her home. 

Of course he found himself looking out the window to find Alana stumbling out of a carriage, alone, but at least in a carriage. She stood in front of the doors a few moment, seeming to be puzzled. It was too dark to tell much, but in the small light he could see her figure and movements. 

She came up within a few minutes, hair frazzled and eyes widened, her movements slowed with hesitation as she glanced between the door behind her and the warmly lit room they shared. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, is everything okay?” He takes a step towards Alana, not getting to close to frighten her but making it so he could look her in the eye. 

“That’s just the thing, I may have just seen a ghost. I swear, one moment he was there and then the next he wasn’t.” Her laugh is desperate as she runs a nervous hand over her sleeves, as if trying to rid herself of chills. “He was looking up here, at this window—at you, I’m sure of it! I thought maybe he knew you, from the war or maybe a patient of yours, but when I tried to question him… he didn’t turn or respond. He just stared.” 

He began to worry, of course he did, when he watched Alana from the window there was no man that he saw, just her standing in the dark. Hannibal wouldn’t accuse his wife of intoxication nor delusion, but what possible explanation could there be? 

“Are you sure of what you saw Alana? I was looking through the window and I didn’t see anyone, just you.” Though he wanted to do something for Alana, she wouldn’t allow him any closer without tensing or stepping away. It was a hurtful distrust, but in her state of panic there was little he could do besides take her as she is. 

Quick to interrupt, her tone is sharp and rage evident. “No, I know what I saw. You weren’t looking then, but the stranger walked away, around a corner was where he was going. But no, he disappeared. Hannibal I’m sure of it, the stranger walked past me and the strange thing was he should have brushed against me, but I didn’t feel a thing. I’m not crazy, I know what I saw.

“And I just thought, you know you said six years was a long time. Maybe you did know him, that maybe something happened those six years—which is understandable—and he was just looking for you.”

It took him a moment to understand the weight of her words, Alana thought she had cheated on her during the war and it was a common action he saw happen before him. But not him, never against Alana. They were married and he loved his wife with everything he had, he couldn’t love anyone else. 

“You’re accusing me of cheating? You truly think I would have an affair and break our vows, because if that’s the case I question how well you know me.” He turns from her, regretting the words said in her fragile state. It was a reasonable for any other person who went through their experience, but he loved Alana far too much to do such a thing. 

Hearing her footsteps towards him, arms wrap around him and she places gentle kisses that though seem to hold meaning, feel forced and unnatural for him. Still, he didn’t pull away from Alana when she mutters apologies and begins to slowly undo each button, one by one. 

“I know you already got ready for bed, but you could join me in the shower if you’d like? I’d like the company.” Hannibal should say no, he was tired and shouldn’t be indulging in this when angry with Alana. It was a wrong accusation for her to make, but she was going off of the evidence she could find and shouldn’t be to blame. 

With little sleep on his belt, Hannibal dressed simply and headed downstairs, being that Alana left an hour prior to the person’s house. Stopped just at the door by Franklin, he comes from behind the desk and starts, “Finally awake, are ye?” His Scottish accent was heavy as he spoke, but still he could hear the amusement in the man’s voice. “Now I’m not sure where you plan to go looking like that, you look as if you’ve only just awoken. Here, allow me?” 

Messing with his hair for a second, then running over to grab one of his jackets Franklin retorts, “You didn’t think you would get away leaving like that I hope. You woulda froze to death out there, it’s a good thing I stopped ya.”

“I’m just going out to meet Alana, it’s a block away at the most; thank you though.” Slipping on the coat without protest, Hannibal makes sure to keep on a pleasant smile while with Franklin. He could only allow this kind of behavior because of the close relationship they had formed, he dare say spending far too many hours here in this very hotel.

While walking down the sidewalk, this brought on the curious thought of his style of living. With Alana and the job she chose, there was never a moment they were settled. Only for Alana would he do this, giving up the simplest of things and though it was an odd speculation he missed these things. Whether it be not having a place to call his own to constantly being called the outsider, it was something he wasn’t yet accustomed to. 

Finding himself at the residence not long after, Hannibal was pulled to help in the kitchen while Alana and her friend spoke of research that was centered solely on this ancestor of hers, Allan Bloom as ironic as that is. 

Sat across from the house keeper of the reverend, he did well to small talk with a pleasant expression and nodding as he listened. She was a smaller, older woman who had a way of seeming welcoming to the eye; one may easily open up to a woman like her. Then she revealed her hobby as a psychic, and it clicked into place. 

“If you’ll allow me, I’ll read your tea leaves, tell you a bit of what to expect in the future.” She was too kind to refuse, Hannibal not one to believe such whims but kind enough to play along and test out her theories. Sliding over the empty cup of tea to Ms. Graham, he didn’t expect much of anything. 

Before speaking she spends a few moments looking into the cup, as if there was something to find, swirling around the contents with a furrowed brow. “I’m not entirely sure what I’m seeing, it all seems to be blurred together.”

Still she seems to put a story together, whether it be true or not Hannibal was yet to know. “Soon, you will be going on a long journey, but you won’t venture far. On this journey you will meet many strangers and among them, you will meet your significant other. That could mean several things, but I assume that after the six years spent at war you may feel your wife is a stranger to you.”

Hannibal finds his eyes wandering to the doorway at the answer, it seemed to hit harder than he expected. He wanted to accept the instinct that he loved his wife after everything they had gone through, it shouldn’t be questioned. Still, it was hard not to let the words sink in too deep and make Hannibal question his relationship with Alana. 

When she further went to read his palm, Hannibal was further pushed with the speculation that either their relationship is in danger now or would be in the future. 

“Is it so horrid that you can’t tell me? You have me worried,” though he laughs it off in good nature, Hannibal couldn’t shake how greatly he had been shaken by her words. It was not the idealism of such tricks, but the factor of how personal it is; threatening against his relationship with Alana. 

Though Mrs. Graham is hesitant to respond she does in a soft spoken voice, “No, it’s just that most palms have a similar pattern and yet I’ve never seen anything like this. The war must have changed you greatly, as the lines on your palm tell the kind of person you are, while as they only hint at what is to come.

“See here, your lines are strong and well-marked so it’s not your health that is at stake, and with a strong thumb you are shown to be a strong willed thinker. It is, however, the line that branches off into two that concerns me; while this means for some that you will marry twice, these branches are connected. I don’t assume you are a bigamist?” 

Though the last bit is spoken teasingly, Hannibal couldn’t shake the bubbling confusion and anger that was brought on by the accusation. “I hardly have the time, how could I?” Hannibal does his best to keep a playful approach, while just underneath the table his fingernails dig into his pant leg.

Exhaustion was evident in the pair as they left the house, neither planning to do much else other than return to bed. “I know you have a busy morning tomorrow, so I thought to get out of your way I would go back to the mountains for sightseeing.” Mumbling this, not much else was exchanged between the two before drifting off. 

The next morning Alana was gone before he awoke, leaving a stale feeling in the air as he put himself together to venture off on his own, thinking maybe he would go back to that castle and collect the herbs he found or spend the morning watching the druid performance. It was the first morning to himself and he wasn’t sure what to do with it. 

Putting himself together in relaxed clothing and sleepily stumbling out the door, his morning drive brought on a smile and the cool air lapped at his skin. There were few clouds against the blue sky with the sun high and bright in the sky, it was the few winds that tousled the trees and chilled the ground. 

Sitting afar on the hill of Craigh na Dun, just as he assumed the group of women, assuming to be varying in age, danced at the hill just as they had before. What struck him as odd was the woman leading the group, whose face peaked from behind the veil, appeared to be Mrs. Graham. It seemed fitting, with the events of yesterday that still waver in his mind. 

The ritual seeming to last longer than the previous night, Hannibal found himself venturing up the hill once the group left on a hunch that his eyes played a trick on him. 

With the skies seeming darker and the pounding of his heart as he approached, he couldn’t explain the loss of control as he stood on the hill with a throw around his shoulders and a wary eye. The ground seemed to tremble underneath him, he unassuming of a storm tormenting the Scottish plains; the scene before consumed by the present distress. Hannibal questioned the distance he had traveled, whether it was possible for such a storm to loom over when just moments ago there was not a cloud in the sky. 

Stumbling to grip at any surface for stability, his eyes wandered for the group who previously occupied the hill and it seemed as if they had vanished. Craigh na Dun no longer appeared the same; whether it be the trees had grown tenfold or the ground beneath his feet had shifted, grass no longer well-kept but reaching his ankles and coated with sludge and blood. 

It was hard to keep steady when separating himself from the rock, flinching at the sounds of screams coming from a short distance, his body no longer feeling as his own. With the screams came gunshots, suspicion quickly rose. It must be some kind of reenactment, men running around with faux bullets and putting on a show for those who want to watch a war. Though it was reasonable, Hannibal couldn’t convince himself of such a lie. 

Only one thought was apparent on his mind, he needed to get back to Alana. It couldn’t be as simple as running back to the hill, throwing his hands desperately at the rocks in hope of finding himself in the same spot only seconds ago. Even though he was still on Craigh Na Dun, Hannibal was able to conclude that this wasn’t his time. 

Mrs. Graham’s words were biting at him now, at the time he laughed them off yet they were a bitter warning that he failed to take. He soon would take a journey not far from home; this must be his journey, one he didn’t want and couldn’t predict. 

Stepping cautiously down the hill, a river sat at the bottom and at said river sat a person fully dressed in military uniform, though he did well to take away from the formal appearance. Slacked at the shore, he sat with his shirt unbuttoned and boots off; with one leg stretched out to the side the other propped up close to his chest while the stranger seemed engulfed by the flask in hand. 

Hesitant to speak out of uncertainty, Hannibal takes a step forward and cocks his head to the side, “Excuse me sir, can you tell me where I am?” 

The man was alert from the moment his step against the ground rustled the silence around them, immediately hostile despite his previous relaxed manner. Quick to take out a saber, Hannibal is backed against the steep hill with the sword against his throat. Though his hands gripped at the ground behind him, there was little he could do beyond keeping a firm composure. 

He was a British man, a first occurrence being deep in Scotland, “How the hell did you find yourself here, boy?” The title meant to belittle him, Hannibal wasn’t sure whether the man wanted an explanation or simply the factor of intimidation. “You certainly don’t look to belong on the battle ground, tell me your name boy.” 

With a furrowed brow and every muscle tensing at the cool metal touching his neck, there is no longer hesitation in his speech but frustration, “Hannibal Lecter is my name, and I am no boy. I’m no younger than you, I lost my way and am aware now that this isn’t a place I wish to occupy.” The saber pierced the surface of his skin, though blood wasn’t drawn it caused a great amount of pain. Gritting his teeth his words were hissed in an attempt to escape, “If you would let me go, I won’t say a word of what I saw.” 

The man seemed to have a curious amusement, one hand moving from the sword while the other was firm with the handle, pressing the sharp edge further into his throat. “But first, you must understand that I can’t have you running your mouth once you leave.” He wasn’t a simpleton, it took a mere second for Hannibal to decipher the weight of his words and thought Hannibal attempted to push away the saber with his hand and knee the soldier; swift movements evade his own while further handicapping him. 

“You revolting bastard, keep your hands off me.” It was hard to keep his voice from faltering, while his heart rate was yet to slow and his bleeding fingers gripped behind him in a panic. 

The man only laughs in response, “Now with that language I’m going to have to cut out your tongue, at least I won’t have to worry about you blabbing off. You’re one of those spies, aren’t you? What other reason would you have to be here?” Greedy hands gripped at his waistband, and unable to find a second to breathe as a stranger comes from behind. 

In a mutual meeting, Hannibal doesn’t react as the stranger sneaks from behind and pounces to attack the military man. As the saber falls from his neck and the soldier lays unconscious at his side, Hannibal is forced to follow the stranger through the forest to a safer threshold.

Forced into a clearing, he finds himself the center of attention to a group of burly men all sitting on horseback and dressed in what looked to be the classic Scottish appearance, only far more distressed. They have been on horseback for days, that much is evident. 

Feeling heavily disgraced, Hannibal found it hard to keep appearance, having his hands wrapped around himself and concentrating solely on steady breathing and the difficulty of swallowing. 

“Will, he shall ride with you and we bring him as a guest until further determined.” All eyes are on him as the stranger, per se his savior, spoke in a heavy Scottish accent. He’s fallen into the hands of a Scottish military group; it seems he’s fallen in the middle of a war in which the British are against the Scottish. 

Looking between the men, watching for a reaction so to determine which one might be this Will, his eyes stuck to a man no older than him who had his eyes glued on the man beside him rather than he. That was Will, with his unruly curls and bright blue eyes; seeming to tense when given the responsibility. Hannibal would make sure to keep out of trouble while with the group, hoping that this save or capture won’t be troubling; he needed to make it back home for Alana. 

Knowing better than to resist, even when wanting to stick to the side of the man who stole him away from the soldier, when a hand is offered so to signal that he is Will, Hannibal is quick to pull himself up on the horse, behind Will.

They made it evident that the ride would be long, treacherous with many dangers lurking behind the trees; stalking them specifically. Will, though appearing like the other men—sharp and tough to the touch—acted in a shy manner, not speaking much and if he spoke wouldn’t look back even when stopped for rest. Hannibal took it as the isolating factor that he is British in a time where the two groups were constantly clawing at each other, much like children or animals. 

Seeming to be so close to their destination, one that was kept a secret from him, they found themselves in a scuffle when Will was shot in the shoulder. It turning out to be the halfway mark of their hike, they found themselves a cabin of a friend, to the Scottish, and tended to the seething Will. 

Hannibal shoved his way through the crowd of men, while they used their grubby hands and ignorant ways to try and fix his shoulder. “If you would stop your scurrying for one moment and listen, you would save time because I know how to treat his wound; I’m a doctor.” Though he was smaller than most, more so all, of the men in the group Hannibal knew to keep respect he would have to keep a strong image; this was not the first time for him to be captured in war. 

They stepped aside and Hannibal was given a clear path to Will. The man is covered in sweat, a cloth shirt covering the part of his chest that wasn’t injured; the rest torn off so to give easy access to the open wound. 

As if a shift of behavior; Hannibal wasn’t fazed by the throbbing of his shoulder nor the steady flow of blood that stained the pale skin, seeming to pour upon every trace of bare skin that it could reach. His hands are gentle at first, so not to cause pain until required, while observing the injury. 

“Beyond the obvious that the bullet buried itself in his shoulder, breaking the tissue and possibly chafing some bone; the recoil gave him a fractured shoulder. I’m going to have to push it back into socket, after that I’m going to need some kind of cloth for a sling and bandage for the bullet wound.” Though half the men there looked to him with bafflement at his sudden outburst, Hannibal went into action not bothering to wait on them understanding his quick speech. 

Muttering to Will singularly this time, his hands are pressing into his shoulder in preparation as he leans into Will and in a hushed tone, “I’ll countdown to one, this may hurt dearly.” He didn’t lie to Will, but he had his tactics with the war and knew the better methods with treating his patients. So he counted from five and was quick to force his shoulder into the socket. With a sigh, Hannibal lets his hand fall to his side and tiredly praises, “You did good, and I hope I didn’t hurt you too bad.” 

Will looking up with a twisted expression puts on a forced smile and huskily responds, “Thank you, I’ll be fine. I’ve known far worse.” The man chuckles, Hannibal expecting the man to keep the story to himself for now; he didn’t intend to stay long enough to learn. 

Handed a roll of elastic, rough cloth Hannibal begins to dress the wound; knowing the flimsy, makeshift bandages and sling would only last for the trip. At least while he was here, Hannibal would treat to the man and see that he doesn’t die of the wound. It would be hard to determine yet what kind of medical competence they may have. 

The rest of the night was to be spent in the cabin, and though Hannibal felt he should leave them it was obvious that wasn’t an option, as much as he wished it could be. At least he could say they fed him something, as little as it was, and didn’t bother him. Of course he was outcasted from the group, he wasn’t going to bother trying to insert himself in fear of his tongue slipping and bringing on even the slightest suspicion on him. 

He would always find their eyes on him; where he sat silent, scrubbing at the mud and blood on his skin with his fingertips. With a heavy chest and rapid heart rate, Hannibal was doing his best to distance himself from the situation and put together some sort of plan to get himself out of this capture. They would be whispering of him, it didn’t take much to figure that out, and Hannibal did well to not let it affect him. Still he feared they may have their own plans against him, he is a stranger after all and just as that military man seemed to think, he could be a spy of the opposing side. His word certainly wouldn’t be enough, they would be bringing him to their homeland. 

The morning was a rough start, he had fallen asleep in his corner with his knees brought tight against his chest and his neck craned to lean against the molding, rough wall. Being tugged from the arm, Hannibal was pushed about and thrown a single piece of bread and pushed out the door. The men were readying the horses and the sun was just rising. It was cold, with what little clothing he had it did no good to shield him from the forming winds. 

As he waited for them to signal their leave, Hannibal leaned against the cabin wall and watched his guide with a careful eye. Will at first glance seemed no different than the other men, all muscle with few words. More likely than not one to lead a group when he got the chance, any of these men would be the kind to go blindly into battle. But he knew better than to judge by the cover, there is plenty to learn that Hannibal wouldn’t have the time to delve into. Even if these were people he would be interested in learning, it was Alana he needed to get home to and this time was one he couldn’t stay in. 

Approaching Will when it seemed that most men were mounting their horses he says, “With the state of your arm, I thought I may offer to take control of the horse, so to not worsen your pain.” He could think to only himself that a bullet wasn’t much, he knew worse, but it was in his best interest to offer goodwill. 

“I’ll be fine, and you won’t know where to go, thank you though.” He answers in a gruff voice, not looking back to Hannibal but seeming to tinker with the saddle and continuing, “We aren’t terribly far from the castle, so it shouldn’t do me harm.” It was obvious there was a lack of trust, and he couldn’t be offended, still it was hard to adjust to. 

As they left the sanctuary, the group seemed tense and alert of the setting around them; probably to avoid similar events to yesterday. Any speaking would be in a hush tone and they wouldn’t dare let their gazes leave the trees that surrounded them. 

They found their horse to be close to the center, surrounded by the others in what Hannibal could assume was a protective shaping. With Will already harmed, if during the ride they found themselves in the midst of British soldiers, it would be nearly impossible for Will to protect himself. It brought on a suspicion if Will specifically was being targeted and if maybe there was reason behind his injury, something he would be interested to explore if he ever did meet Will again. It seemed though that Will would be one not welcome to sharing such a personal experience. 

“You’re accent, forgive me I can’t place it? You aren’t from here are you?” Will spoke, they were a few hours into the trip and Hannibal found himself wanting to doze off even with the scenery around them, it was the silence that made it nearly impossible to stay alert. His voice was hushed, calming yet it still came as a surprise. 

Hannibal answered with hesitation, trying to think back to Alana’s words and his personal history—not wanting to risk exposure. Still, his country’s name shouldn’t arouse much of anything, “It’s Lithuanian, for a short time I lived in Lithuania but I identify as a British citizen.”

“I wouldn’t flaunt that around here, with the war that I’m sure you’re aware of.” Will says this with soft chuckle, shoulders slumped and seeming to be off guard unlike the rest of the group. “Interesting though, that you lived in Lithuania. I don’t know much of it, beyond the living condition and that like you, most tend to run from there.” This comment aids Hannibal, giving him history to aid his lies. He could easily play the truth with the lie, keeping it as simple as possible without going into gory details. 

With a soft smile, trying to at least make it seem genuine, he responds, “I only spent my childhood there, so the glimpses I got were exclusively kitchen fights and my father being putting his life on the line in fighting for us.” Hannibal pauses, thinking back to his parents and thought it was a distant, blurred image it still existed with a tart image. It was his younger sister that he wished could keep the pure image, if that one part of his life could be erased then he would be happy with his family. “It is with my Uncle and Aunt that I stayed in Europe; spending many years in France and Great Britain.” 

“And your parents didn’t follow you? I can’t imagine why any parents would leave their child several countries over with a constant battle in their front yard, it would take at least a year for you to ever hear if something was to happen to them, at least that’s what I would assume. Unless, they were ridding of you completely?” Will says this with uncertainty, only glancing back to Hannibal so to see the slightest bit of reaction from him. 

“No, that wasn’t the case. I could see, if they had lived longer, maybe it would have happened, but we were forced to flee our home and while taking refuge in a small cottage a ways out, they were killed by a group of soldiers. My sister and I were spared, in a way. It’s a sensitive subject.” This instantly turns Will away with a quiet apology and a kick of the horse. 

Just over the hill was a familiar sight, bringing instant dread in Hannibal and seeming much like a distant memory, this castle before them is Castle Leoch. Not long ago they roamed the barren halls together, now they would be filled with life and war just behind them. 

When given his own quarters and introduced to the maidservant, he quickly learned his footing here wouldn’t be one of privilege unlike in the past. He had to question himself, whether he was a guest or a prisoner. 

Finding Will again, insistent in keeping an eye on his wound, the man wasn’t resistant. It was there that the multiple scars dressing his back were revealed, though Will didn’t seem ashamed of them, which had him curious. 

Preparing a cloth bandage he questions, “Why were you flogged?” He found himself haunted by the others injuries, they protruding from his skin yet naturally a part of him. It was just as the chains had weighed him down in the snowy field long ago, creating indentions in his wrists and burned away the skin on his neck. Those, of course, are long gone unlike Will’s. 

“That, I’m not entirely sure of myself. They say thievery and murder and escaping imprisonment. Twice now I’ve been flogged and accused by the same man, the man who seemed to cause a little trouble it sounds like?”

“Ah—yes, Captain Randall.” That unpleasant man was related to his wife, a strange not-entirely-accurate statement that ruffled at his feathers. “Our encounter was something to be ashamed of, and I hate to consider he is one of the men assigned with the country’s safety. He did this to you, it doesn’t surprise me as much as it should after only knowing the man for a few, measly moments.” Saying this in a defeated tone, there time together was uneventful excluding the mention of his wife. With a pat on the back and an apology, Hannibal was left to his thoughts.

It was the realization that his wife is dead that claws at him, more so she hasn’t been born yet. Making him want to run through those doors and get as far from here as possible, yet the trip to Craigh na Dun would be more than two days, on foot, which he couldn’t do on his own. That had become evident. 

He wanted to think, maybe Will would take him. The man seemed so calm and opened up quickly enough, showing more trust than he ever would have expected from the man, but he quickly deterred that. Will is certainly a loyal soldier to these people, the House of Mackenzie, and he had to respect that. It would be up to himself to reach his destination and find his way home. 

No one would be much of a help, they all suspected him to be a spy of the other side just as the British had and it was doing him no good to give reassuring words. Maybe Will would believe him, but that wouldn’t amount to much other than a young man’s good word to the chieftain; and that is one man. 

The chieftain is a disabled man, though he denies it greatly, it wasn’t long before he was able to diagnose it as Toulouse-Lautrec Syndrome. 

Garret Jacob Mackenzie is the man’s name, a man who spends most of his time with a glass of wine and is strict on policy. Hannibal is quick to learn his ways once sitting down for a dinner, invited right by the chieftain’s side. On Hannibal’s right is the man who he called savior for a short time, quickly taking on to the man’s swift, sharp, cruel ways that are far stricter than what he is used to; Jack Mackenzie is the man’s name, and it was later revealed that he identifies as the war chieftain of the Mackenzie clan. 

It is due to the low hanging suspicion that everyone seemed to be clawing at his neck and looking down on him. Jack was specifically one to do this, he and his disabled brother slithering their ways into his space and twisting words so to attempt to outsmart him. And just so they did, using a technique that Alana would laugh if heard he fell for it. Feeding the victim while squeezing information from them, a merciful form of interrogation that nearly endangered his identity. 

He did well to put up protective walls in his mind, becoming more reserved all the while taking careful steps, to not raise suspicion. 

It was hard, really, to make friends with the townspeople all the while knowing he had less than seven days until a trip would be made close to his destination and he would be tagging alongside. Yet it was still worrying, hoping that Garrett would keep his word with the rising suspicion on his part. 

It was a man with similar interests that approached him and took the burden of keeping an eye on him. 

“The name’s Frederick Chilton, and please do tell me what you plan on doing with that poison mushroom? Trying to rid of a wife? Get back at a man? Escape from responsibility, you have me quite curious stranger.” The man was dressed unlike one of poor stature, unlike most people he had seen before while wandering the streets-with an escort or not at all. 

“Not at all, if you use this correctly by crushing the plant and mixing it with a few other key ingredients it makes a good remedy for healing open wounds. And my name is Hannibal Lecter.” 

From then it seemed he never left the other’s side, whatever chance he got Frederick was there to show him where to go and translate what he couldn’t understand. It was only moments with Will and sleepless nights that were spent without Frederick. It was the factor that this man was the slightest bit kind to him and kept him out of trouble, that Hannibal kept himself glued to the other’s side. 

Of course there was the kind maid, Beverly that tended to him the first morning and gave him work when he needed it; or when he didn’t. She seemed to be backbone of this castle and he admired her for that. 

On one of the many nights, not long before Hannibal planned to put himself to bed for the early morning, even if it was to be spent restlessly without sleep, Frederick dragged him to what seemed to be the throne room. Plenty of people were crowded together in the large room, keeping at least twenty meters from the set of chairs, only one being occupied by the wife of Garret Mackenzie. 

Moments later the man himself walked, seeming to drag himself, up to the chair and sat, speaking in a foreign tongue in which Frederick whispered translations on occasion. 

“This is a night of litigation, where we will punish those who went against strict rules set by previous rules that still stand true. Including those we have in waiting, please if you have someone to accuse, bring them forward.” 

Hannibal listened intently, querying why Fredrick brought him to watch this but didn’t say a word against it, figuring it to be a tradition. His eyes wandered as silence spread through the room and people began to line up for the chieftain, though Hannibal’s attention was brought to Will standing across the room observing the scene before him. 

The first was a small girl, no older than fifteen, held tightly by a superior whom he could assume was the girl’s father. It seemed cruel to put humiliation so large to a teenage girl, though Hannibal could assume at this age she would be one to marry and considered an adult. 

The father spoke in English, oddly enough as any response was in the language Hannibal could only guess was Scottish. “My daughter has committed liaison with several different men, both younger and older than her while she is already planned to marry another.” 

Garret’s tone is sharp in response, speaking in words he couldn’t comprehend, while Frederick listened for him with curious eyes and a tense composure. On the other end of the room, Will was stirring from his spot. 

“I will take the girls punishment.” Stepping from the crowd, Will kneels in front of the man and though Hannibal wants to stop the other Fredrick tugs him back before others take notice. The girl is after all the youngest accused and he has no story beyond what was told to him by Frederick. 

He had to turn away as Will was repetitively trashed about the open floor, the girl clinging to Beverly not far beyond, being punched and thrown and shoved down until he was bleeding. Even then Will wasn’t left alone until laying on the ground unconscious. He was dragged off before Hannibal could act, determined to find the man and help him as well as questioning what reason Will could have for acting in such a ridiculous manner, already being injured and putting himself into harm’s way. 

They found themselves in that same room, Will covered now in bruises and drifting in and out of consciousness. 

“I don’t know what you were thinking, even if you thought you could handle this, did you want to put yourself in more pain and risk?” Though he wants to be brisk with the man, his tone is soft and sympathetic as he works at the wounds. 

Will laughs tiredly, leaning against him while his body shuddered in pain. “That girl didn’t deserve such shame, after all she is only a girl. I know her well and her mischief is good natured, you saw what they did to me. Would you have stood there and watched a young girl beaten out of childish spirit.”

“No, of course not. But certainly there would have been mercy for her, as you said she is a child. With you they were brutal, far beyond what the punishment would have called for. You don’t need to try and save everyone, not if it means you will be put in danger.” Hannibal knew his words would be twisted against him, a common happening since arriving here a stranger, but he had to defend Will and make sure once he was gone this man wouldn’t die young of stupidity. 

“Will,” he speaks again, interrupting the silence shared by them, “I feel I should inform you this may be our last encounter. I’m leaving in two days’ time.” It felt like there should be more to voice, with the time spent together and how easily they had opened to one another. 

Frowning now, Will is still leaning against him as he says in a lowered voice, “I should’ve known you would leave eventually, I just didn’t expect so quickly.” Looking down on the injured man, he seemed to act in a foggy state with drooping eyes and heavy movements.

Moving a seat in front of Will, he cleans at the wounds covering his chest and says, “I have family to get back to, they don’t know of my disappearance and certainly will be searching for me.” 

“What family? You said your parents and wife are dead, can’t you stay here?” He knew Will didn’t mean it as rude, the man was hardly functioning properly after all, probably having had plenty of alcohol before as well. Still he had to pause, making sure his words wouldn’t be heated in anger. 

Movements jerky, fumbling with the thoughts and person before him, “Well, more accurately, friends and family. Though I may not be related to everyone I know, there are some I consider close enough to be family. And of course work, I have to get back to my work at home.” 

“You could always work here? You wouldn’t have to be alone or afraid here, not with me here. I’d protect you, just like I did for that girl, I’d be your family.” If his lies were truth Hannibal would have clutched on to those words and believed them to be true. Though Will started with a poor reasoning, it seemed his reason came solely from the heart. 

Touching up at the wounds Hannibal starts to leave, but is grabbed by the other. “Wait, tomorrow there is a show. I want to take you, it will be fun. Call it a treat before you have to go, and certainly a good note to end on if nothing else. Please?” They had done plenty before, Hannibal going up to the stables to see the man and walking the courtyard together but one last thing wouldn’t hurt. 

“Alright, I’ll go with you. When should I be ready by?” Hannibal couldn’t deny the slightest bit of excitement, though it wouldn’t be quality time together like in the past it would be one last time to see Will. 

“Before sunset, we can have dinner in the pastures and go to the show when finished; we’ll have plenty of time to talk, I won’t want to miss a minute of your company if you truly are leaving.” Still speaking in a disappointed tone, it was only the reminder that Alana is waiting for him that kept him sure. 

All while smiling Hannibal had his hand on top of the other’s, unknowing what more was to come and the weight of that touch. What feelings boiled with that simple touch which should mean nothing more than kindness, yet something stirred with that touch. 

Muttering a simple yes Hannibal was quick to remove his hand and turn away, leaving the room with confusion he wouldn’t dare show to the other. This man is someone he shouldn’t affiliate himself with, not in this time if he can’t get back. He knows how this war ends and he dare say this group could be one of the many that fights, only to lose. He wouldn’t become part of that, he only needs to worry about home.

He ignored his name being called and dashed for the hills, unsure of where exactly he was taking himself until tugged by another. It wasn’t as expected, thinking maybe Will stumbled out of the room to pull him back, but instead it was Jack. 

Furrowing his brow in confusion Hannibal jerks back and questions, “Can I help you?” Sounding hostile when really he was being driven by fear and panic. 

“I can’t let you leave, I know you’re going in two days’ time and I can’t allow it. There are still suspicions over your identity and we can’t let you leave until our suspicions are completely gone or proven right.” How he wanted to just spill the truth to the man, though wouldn’t be believable but maybe it would be crazy enough that they would throw him out or something of the like. 

Hannibal wasn’t sure what to say in that moment, thinking solely of his wife looking for him at home and how he had gone from being a guest to a prisoner in seconds, or at least that is what he assumed he was. “I don’t think you understand that I don’t want to be here, I certainly wasn’t planning for any of this if that’s what you think happened. I’m just stuck in the middle of something I don’t want to be a part of, I’m not supposed to be here. I know I can’t simply convince you with words, but keep my desperate words in mind when my judgment comes.” 

Jack has a skeptical expression as he listens, seeming to only corner him further and never lets his grip falter. “You have been tending to Will Graham, correct? I need you to come with me.” Hannibal isn’t given the time to answer, instead tugged from his spot to follow behind the forceful man. 

Thrown into the underground room that Hannibal recognized all too well, Jack is quick to explain, “I want you working as the healer until the day we allow you to leave, only when you are asleep will you not be down here working for the people and you will always have your assigned guards watching over you. Do you understand?”

“Do I have a choice?” It was a rhetorical question, his tone bleeding with bitter sarcasm directed to Jack, yearning for nothing more than the freedom he had before. Would he still be able to go tomorrow with Will? He wanted nothing more than to spend one more night with a friend. 

“Wait, forgive my rudeness I have a question. Will invited me to some sort of performance taking place tomorrow evening, am I allowed to still attend it or and I limited to my hours spent in here?” 

Hannibal could see the bubbling vexation from Jack. Still the man answers with exasperation and a sigh, “I suppose you can, I won’t tie you down completely but I don’t want you to leave Will’s side; I will inform him of your impediment so you can’t worm your way into his foolishness.” 

Though he would have argued against Jack’s disregard of sensitivity for Will, Hannibal could admit exclusively to himself that if given the chance he would have used the night to escape; even if Will would be pleasant company. 

If he were to meet Will in any other situation, Hannibal may find himself devoting time to the other, but more than anything it was Alana that occupied his mind. Though before he subconsciously agreed to Mrs. Graham’s speculation that his wife had become a stranger, more than ever Hannibal found himself missing the time he didn’t take to love Alana. 

Spending the night restless in bed, like normal, Hannibal took it upon himself to do something different with his sleepless night. Making sure to keep quiet, Hannibal walked through the halls and not long after found himself wandering outside and though it was still dark, there were wandering people about the town and Hannibal was surprised to find himself in Will’s company. 

“I’m curious as to why you’re up so late, I wouldn’t assume it excitement over being able to go home soon?” Will says in a pleasant tone, though as a whole Will looks sickly with the dark circles under his eyes and the heavy slump of his shoulders, face especially pale.

“Not necessarily, though if that were the case I’d be at peace. With a turn of events, I suppose I won’t be leaving within the next two days, at Jack Mackenzie’s order. Suddenly I seem to find myself as a prisoner, and even though I shouldn’t be surprised I’m still angry.” Hannibal runs a hand through his hair, leaning against the wall behind him and keeping his gaze to the ground. “Why are you out so late, having trouble with sleep yourself?” 

Chuckling Will replies, “I have different problems on my shoulders, burden can be hard to shake and with this much guilt sleep is hard to find at times.” 

Small talking until it was hard to stay awake, they walked arm in arm back into Castle Leoch and passing out in bed, only to be woken again a few hours later at sunrise for work. 

It wasn’t the worse job, in fact in the past all Hannibal wanted for a job was to be a surgeon, but with the war and the marriage time never seemed to be kind to him. 

Working with the hope of establishing trust, Hannibal worked to exhaustion from the moment he started until the moment he was gained freedom, or more closely into Will’s custody. Doing his best to cooperate, Hannibal quick to clean himself up and dress in finer clothes, joins Will for the pastures where they found themselves having one of the many previous lunches out in the grasslands. Only with Will would he allow this. 

Exchanging facetious words and pleasant smiles, the day was well spent as they sat together and in time returned to the castle to attend the performance. It was when they sat that their party of two suddenly become one of three, the girl seen last night on trial plopping down beside Will and pretty nearly clinging to the man beside him. 

“Abigail, I’m glad to see you okay after yesterday. Have you been staying out of trouble? I would hope so, your father is not a man to mess with, I fear he’ll have my tongue seeing you with me.” Though Will’s tone is playful, he can see the sweat build at his neck and it is obvious that this girl’s father has in the past accused Will of romance with Abigail, an amusing affair when this girl must be several years younger than him. Even with that it seemed that Abigail was hanging all over him. 

He didn’t consider using the girl to evade an escape until the show had begun, something he found hard to concentrate on when the center of his mind circled around escape alone. Glancing back to the two, Abigail having her hands around his bicep while laying against the crook of his neck—not unlike how they were hours before. It was far too easy for Will to trust him, though Hannibal wanted the trust to be genuine and for him to not taint that picture, but this life was not his own. 

“Uh, if you’ll allow it I need to excuse myself from the room for a moment. I’ll only be stepping just out the door.” Hannibal whispers to the other, keeping his eye on the show as he speaks and his hands knot in the cloth of his pants, doubt overwhelming with the guilt of leaving Will and the small chance that even if he were to run off, it wouldn’t work. 

There could be the chance that even when he did leave, he may reach those rocks and realize there’s no way out; then where would he go? 

Will answers absent mindlessly, seeming concentrated on the show before them and small girl glued to his side. Looking back once more, Hannibal walks towards the nearest hallway, hoping to find an exit with the lowly lit torches and doorways he had previously spent nights memorizing. 

Yes, the exit was only steps away and he could make it back to his wife, make up for lost time and truly revel in the life he was blessed with. 

And then, just when the cool air brushed his skin a rough hand jerks him back; speaking in a ludic tone and when Hannibal turns to see the other he can only smile in defeat. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Will, I’m sorry. I can’t fully explain to you my reason for leaving, but I can’t stay here. I have to go, and when I say this know it wasn’t you but outside forces that lead me to this decision. I enjoyed knowing you.” When Hannibal moves to release himself from Will’s grip, the other doesn’t let go as he had in the past. 

“You say that as if we won’t pass paths again, I plan on seeing you again. Now I don’t know what has you rushing out, but remember that both sides seem to think you’re a criminal and here with us is your safest bet, when Captain Bloom is still out there.” Will says this with a further tightening grip and pushing them closer together his determination doesn’t falter. “You just have to trust me.” 

Pursing his lips and backing away from the other, as best as he could with strangers eyeing at them and a castle full of guards just feet away, there wasn’t much he could do. Looking away with a scowl Hannibal says, “It seems I don’t have any other choice. Show me back in?” 

Appearing overly cheeky, the other releases the deadening grip on his arm and offers the very hand out with a cocky smile, “Of course, right this way.”


End file.
